


Good Company

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Mother to Son [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Queen AU, Queen Fic, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: You and Roger are exhausted after the birth of your baby. With the recording of A Night at the Opera looming ahead, Roger takes things into his own hands to ensure you won't be home alone with 2 kids.





	Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so let's not take time to talk about how long it's been since I updated this...please forgive me. Here's a short update, more to follow in the next week or so.

**THE LOFT, LONDON // AUGUST 1975**

With the corner of a washcloth, you wiped the post-shower fog from the bathroom mirror, recoiling in dismay when you caught sight of your reflection – you looked like death. You could have sworn that when Corin had been born, you’d gotten at least some sleep. This baby, however, as beautiful and angelic and perfect as she was, had given you and Roger no downtime. 

As if you’d summoned him just by thinking his name, your boyfriend shuffled into the bathroom, looking as if he’d been zombified. His long, golden hair hadn’t been brushed in several days, and the purple bags beneath his eyes matched your own. 

“I’m going to kill every bloody one of them,” he monotoned, reaching past you to grab his toothbrush. “If those bastards think we’re going to go out to a studio in the fucking boondocks next week to record an album, especially when both John and I have newborns at home, they’re kidding themselves.” Roger ran some water over the bristles of the toothbrush, not realizing until he’d put it in his mouth that he’d neglected to add any toothpaste. 

“Tired, are we, love?” you raised an eyebrow. He caught your eye in the mirror and shook his head quickly. 

Shortly after he’d found out about your pregnancy, Roger had promised to never use the word ‘tired’ around you again. As much as having a baby waking up several times a night could exhaust a father, Roger wouldn’t be the one who needed to get out of bed at any hour to nurse the baby, or be a stay-at-home parent to both Corin and a newborn. That was all on you as the mother, and thankfully, Roger had recognized this fact right away. 

“Just, uh, frustrated,” Roger mumbled through a mouthful of frothy toothpaste. “Why can’t these stupid record execs understand that we all have lives, too?” You rested a hand on his bare shoulder blade, still warm from having been asleep on the sunny side of the bed. 

“That’s the way it’s always been for us,” you reminded him. “And now that you’ve taken up with this new record label, you don’t have any room to be making demands until you’ve built some rapport with them.” This album mattered a lot to the boys’ career, and you were sensitive to this fact, as exhausted as you knew you’d be in Roger’s absence. 

“I just wish—” he started, his sentence cut off as his jaw dropped. A large drip of frothy liquid poured from his mouth onto the bathroom floor, splashing your feet. 

“Ew, Rog,” you complained, wiping the top of your foot off on the bathmat. “What on earth is the matter?” Roger spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth with a handful of water, kissed you hard on the lips as though you’d had a brilliant idea, and took off down the stairs. 

“Men,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” Your son chose this moment to tear into your bedroom, wearing only a pair of train-patterned underpants. His footsteps didn’t thunder across the floor into the bathroom, however, but instead slowed down to what sounded like a loud attempt at tiptoeing. Poking your towel-wrapped head out of the bathroom, you saw that Corin was peering into the bassinet beside your bed. 

“Oh, Cor, lovie,” you said softly, holding out a hand towards him, “baby’s asleep, let’s not…” you trailed off. She’d finally stopped crying around 40 minutes ago, giving you enough time to shower for the first time in days. 

Corin paid you no attention, choosing instead to kneel down on the carpet beneath the bassinet and lean his arms on the edge of the wooden cot. Without making a sound, he rested his chin on his arms and watched his tiny sister as she slept. His sweet brown eyes twinkled, as they did every time he looked at the baby – from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he was as much in love as you’d ever known a little boy to be. 

“Is she supposed to breathe this fast, Mummy?” he asked, glancing up at you after a minute of enraptured silence. Corin chewed his lip concernedly; he was trying to think about how quickly he took his breaths, and needed to devote a significant amount of brainpower to counting them, and comparing the rate to that of his sister’s. Wanting to be sure he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, you clutched the corners of your towel and crossed the bedroom to stand beside him. A minute later, you had determined that the baby was doing just fine. 

“Babies have faster heartbeats and breathe faster than older children,” you explained, taking a seat on the bed beside him. “Their little bodies just work a little different than ours, but that will change as she gets older.” Corin released a breath of relief, glad that he had checked in. You’d never expected him to take such an interest in the baby, but he’d insisted upon being near her almost every waking moment of his day. 

A little wisp of blonde hair was sticking up from your daughter’s head, and with one finger, your son gently smoothed it back down over her soft skin. As though she’d felt it in her dreams, the baby smacked her lips and turned her tiny head a few centimeters. Corin drew back, hoping he hadn’t caused her to wake up. He’d been subjected to her cries during the night as well, because his bedroom was across the hall from your own. 

“Let’s let baby sleep, and go find something for brekkie, why don’t we?” you suggested, giving Corin’s shoulder a light squeeze. “She’ll be alright without us for a few minutes, I’m sure.” Reluctantly, the boy stood up and moved toward the bedroom door, glancing back at the bassinet several times to ensure the girl was still doing well. 

Once you’d made it down the stairs, you heard Roger whispering frantically into the phone. It was odd to see him making calls so early, seeing as it was only just past 7:00. Your thoughts were occupied elsewhere, though, so you brushed the strange sight off and made for the fridge, where ingredients for breakfast could be found. 

“Omelettes sound good to you, Cor?” you inquired, running a hand through his silky hair. Over the past few months, he’d insisted on growing his locks out, so as to mimic Roger’s shaggy ‘do. It looked cute on both of them, you thought, and didn’t mind the boy with such long hair, so long as he agreed to wash it several times a week, and not get gum stuck in it. 

“Ham and cheese, please,” Corin requested sweetly, flashing you a toothy grin. He had lost one of his top front teeth about 2 months ago, and the new adult tooth was very slowly making its way through his gums. “Also, could I please have some toast, maybe?” 

“Hold on a second,” you heard Roger murmur into the phone. He tilted the bottom away from his face and called out to your son. “Cor, Papa will get you some toast in one minute, alright?” Corin nodded happily, pleased to have been promised two things he very much enjoyed having for breakfast. The blonde man, still in only his sleep shorts, continued his telephone conversation. 

You cracked two eggs into a bowl and set to work cutting up tiny squares of ham, and shredding a decent amount of cheese. Knowing you and Roger were likely to have omelettes as well, you left all the ingredients out on the counter. The drawer beside you slid open and slammed shut without you having touched it at all, and a second later, Corin appeared on your other side, a whisk clutched in his hand. 

“Can I please stir the eggs?” he asked impatiently. “Please, Mummy, I _never_ get to stir the eggs.” You handed over the bowl and allowed him to have at it. He mashed the metal whisk into the yolk of each egg, breaking the membrane. He watched with fascination as the dark amber and clear egg white mixed together to make a bright yellow liquid. 

“Did you want to sprinkle on your own ham and cheese as well?” you wondered, setting a frying pan on the stovetop. “If you do, I’ll need you to wait a minute for the pan to heat up.” Corin nodded enthusiastically and plopped back down onto the chair he’d laid claim to. 

“Mum, can I ask you a question?” he wondered aloud a minute later, stealing your attention from the bottle of cooking oil you were trying to pry the lid off. 

“Of course,” you responded, setting the stubborn bottle back down onto the counter. Maybe Roger could give it a go when he was off the telephone. “What’s your question?” 

“Well, my friend told me yesterday that names usually mean something,” he informed you, “and I was just wondering if our names mean anything.” He looked up at you expectantly, awaiting a thrilling response to his question. You smiled gently down at him, and knelt down before him so you were at equal eye-level. 

“Oh, yes,” you nodded seriously. “That’s very true. Names have important meanings. Giving a name to a baby is one of the hardest, but most important jobs a Mummy and Daddy can have.” 

“Really?” Corin gasped, his interest piqued. 

“Very important,” you told him. “I picked both your names from books I loved. You are named after Corin, a brave prince from _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , and baby’s name, Mina, is from a story called _Dracula_.” 

“I’m named after a prince?” Your son’s eyes went wide; this fact was thrilling to him, especially because Roger had been recently read him several bedtime stories about heroic princes and tall castles and fire-breathing dragons. 

“Indeed,” you smiled. “And I chose your sister’s name from the book I was reading on the airplane when we went to America to visit Papa at his concert.” This didn’t seem nearly as exciting to him as the story of his own name, but he nodded politely in acknowledgement. 

The egg mixture sizzled as you poured it into the pan, and Corin waited patiently beside you with diced ham and shredded cheese in hand, standing on the step stool you kept in the kitchen for such occasions. When you gave him the go-ahead, he sprinkled the ingredients into the pan, distributing them as well as he was able. It took another few minutes to cook completely, but shortly thereafter, your son sat at the island in the centre of the kitchen, happily munching away at his breakfast. 

With a happy sigh, Roger set the telephone back down onto its cradle and marched across the room. He stood behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. 

“Now what’s all this about, making secret calls when the sun’s barely up?” you asked suspiciously. Roger kissed your shoulder, set his hands on your hips, and twisted you around to face him. 

“How would you feel about taking some time away from home?” he questioned, a smile creeping across his face. “Since, y’know, the shop’s covered for the next few months.” Your eyebrows knit together curiously; what could he possibly be talking about? He was right about the shop being in good hands – after promptly relieving Anna (the part-time clerk from hell) from her duties after having leaked your ultrasound to the tabloids, you’d hired a trustworthy young woman with plenty of sales experience to manage things while you took a maternity leave. 

“Away from home where?” you frowned. “You’re leaving for Rockfield in 3 days.” 

“Precisely,” he smiled, pointing a finger to indicate you’d hit the nail on the head. “Well, I’ve called John and Veronica, plus our manager, and arranged for us to stay in the other house on the property while we record.” Tilting your head, you regarded him quizzically. 

“The other house?” 

“So, I’ve told you about how Rockfield has residential space for musicians to live while we record, remember?” You nodded slowly, hoping you were following his train of thought. “Well, there’s the main house, where we’ve stayed in the past, but there’s also another, smaller house, with three bedrooms. John, Veronica and little Robert would have one room; you, Mina and I would share the second; and Corin could have the third one all to himself. He could bring his toys and everything.” 

As much as you loved Roger, he’d never been much of an organizer before. This, however, sounded as though he’d put significant thought into it, even going so far as to call his manager, and the Deacons – at 7:00am, no less. 

“So…we’d see you every day, instead of being separated?” you confirmed. “And V would be there with Robert, so there would be other women?” Roger took your hands in his, running his fingers over your palms, soft in comparison to his, rough and calloused from years behind a drum kit. 

“Well, I couldn’t insist on having _my_ wife there and no one else’s,” Roger smirked. “Apparently that would be rude or something. John was all for it the moment I told him my idea, and I guess our manager thinks this is the best way to get us to put an album together without making any more of a fuss.” You raised an eyebrow at his use of the word ‘wife’. 

“Oh, are we finally telling people that we’re getting married?” you inquired sarcastically. “I thought we were keeping it a secret until the day before the event.” Roger pulled you into a hug and kissed your temple; he was getting a sense that you were maybe more annoyed about this little detail than he’d thought. 

“Y/N, we’ll tell them soon, I promise,” he sighed, holding you tightly against his chest. “I just really want to be able to get you a nice ring, so when you tell people we’re married, you don’t have to explain that your husband was too broke to afford one.” You rolled your eyes in exasperation; this discussion had happened a million times since he’d asked the big question after returning from the American tour. 

“I told you I don’t care about a ring, Rog,” you insisted, looking up at him. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, and his baby blues regarded you lovingly. You could tell he was frustrated, but wanted you to be happy more than anything else. “So what if I don’t have a ring? John had to sell two of his guitars to afford one for V, and I’d never want you to do something like that.” You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “We love each other, and I don’t need some fancy piece of jewellery to prove it; that’s what we’ve got two kids for.” This last bit was more of a joke than anything; Roger had never expected to fall for a single mother, and your second pregnancy had been a surprise to absolutely everyone – especially you. 

“I know you don’t _need_ one,” Roger huffed indignantly, “but I _want_ you to have one. You deserve something lovely to show off to your girlfriends, and any man that tries to buy you a beer at the pub.” 

“How about we discuss the ring and the wedding _after_ Rockfield?” you suggested. “We’ll have some much-needed family time away from the busyness of the city, you and the boys will have recorded all the wonderful stuff you’ve worked so hard to put together, and then we can discuss the other things.” 

Roger nodded slowly, and his shoulders returned to their normal position now that he was calming down. It was so easy to get worked up when you were sleep-deprived and anxious about a thousand other things, and the difficulties of having a screeching baby beside you at all times was clearly getting to both of you. 

“How about I finish up with these omelettes, and you go bring down our little bundle of joy and hungriness,” Roger smiled, leaning in to kiss you. Mina had begun to cry a moment before, and you hoped she would soothe herself and drop back off to sleep; it didn’t seem that way, however. 

“Love you, Rog,” you sighed, a content but tired smile creeping across your face. Everything you’d ever wanted was right here in this house with you, so even through the exhaustion of parenting and the challenges of being with a famous musician, you felt that you and your little family were doing alright. 

* * * * * 

**ROCKFIELD FARMS, MONMOUTHSHIRE // AUGUST 1975**

“Thank goodness you’re here, darlings!” Freddie exclaimed, crossing the gravel path to greet your family. Corin leapt into his arms and received a tight hug, as well as a good tickling. Freddie set him down beside Roger’s feet, and enveloped you in his arms next. You, he held more gently, being conscious of the little one wrapped in a blanket that was cradled in your right arm. “Oh, isn’t she precious,” Freddie cooed, running a finger down the baby’s cheek. “Our little Mina May.” 

Roger clasped a hand on Freddie’s shoulder, tilting his head towards the boot of the car, where several suitcases had been stowed during the drive from London to the studio, situated near the Welsh town of Monmouth. After popping a gentle kiss on Mina’s head, Freddie joined his bandmate and hauled the baggage into the small cottage you would be sharing with the Deacons. 

A loud screech from the other side of the car caught your attention, and you hurried around the front of the vehicle to check on your son, who’d wandered off the moment you looked away. A delighted Corin was patting the back of a speckled hen, who clucked happily at the attention she was receiving. 

“Mummy, you didn’t tell me they had CHICKENS here!” he shrieked excitedly, pointing at the bird beside him. “I’ve always wanted to see a real-life chicken on a farm!” You giggled as you observed the way your son spoke to the hen. He carried on a conversation with her, as though she could understand every word. She interjected tiny “bok-bok” sounds every so often, which he took to mean that she was interested in chatting. Your curious boy, now seven years old, was certainly a wonder to behold. 

“Now tell me,” a familiar, feminine voice called out to you from the door of the cottage, “is that babe able to sleep once you’ve set her down, or does she scream until you rock her like this little fellow?” Your eyes found Veronica Deacon, the lovely wife of Queen’s bassist, standing in the doorway with her own bundle of joy wrapped in her arms. Baby Robert had been born shortly before Mina, and from the look of pure exhaustion on Veronica’s face, she was having about as much fun with her newborn as you were. 

“I’m sure Freddie will be more than willing to take these two off our hands so we can lie down for a nap,” you smiled, crossing the gravel path to greet your friend. “And Brian should put in some time as well, I’m certain that Chrissie will be pestering him for a little one now that most of his friends have their own, so he’ll need the experience.” Veronica kissed your cheek affectionately and peered down at Mina, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as she did so. 

“Don’t you just make the cutest babies,” she teased. “Doesn’t matter who with, either, it seems – it’s all your genetics, Y/N, no man required. Roger must be wrapped around her little finger already.” You leaned your head against hers, trying to get a glimpse of Robert, who was asleep in his mother’s arms. 

“Spitting image of John, this one,” you noted, touching the tip of his nose. “Eyes to match his father’s I’m sure.” Veronica nodded proudly, before leaning back out the door and scanning the surrounding area. 

“Where’s Corin gone?” she wondered, glancing back at you. 

“He’s made friends with a chicken,” you shrugged, “I’m not worried. Not much trouble he can get into besides muddying up his trousers.” Leaving the door to the cottage open in case the boy decided to return in the next little while, Veronica led you inside to give you a tour of the place. Roger and Freddie had finished unloading your baggage, and had left it at the foot of your bed. 

“We won’t start recording until tomorrow morning,” you heard Freddie explaining to Roger and John, who had collapsed beside each other on the sofa in the sitting room. “But we’ve got supper being prepared as we speak, and then we can get things set up in the studio so we’ll be set to start bright and early tomorrow!” John, whose eyes were closed, mumbled something incoherent to Roger, who responded in kind. 

“How’s about you and Brian watch the babies until supper, while the girls and us take a nap?” John suggested, failing to stifle a yawn. Y/N and Veronica can sleep in the Taylors’ room, and Rog and I will sleep in ours.” 

“And why would I sleep next to you when I could be with Y/N?” Roger asked curiously. A smirk crossed John’s face, and he allowed his eyelids to flutter open just long enough to see a grin split the drummer’s face after he gave him an answer: 

“Seems that whenever you sleep beside a woman, there’s always a chance you’ll get her pregnant,” John explained. “So I figure that if you’d like to sleep through the night again at some point, we should probably just leave the girls to their own devices.”

**Author's Note:**

> K this time I promise to put in time on this story, and not leave it for months on end! School is out, and I have time to work on my WIPs finally!
> 
> Also, S/O to reader Tallie for getting me to finally update after 100 years of silence on this fic.


End file.
